Trapped and Shattered
My memories are trapped in bottles, giftless genies waiting to be awoken.
Above me, they rest perched upon a shadowed shelf just beyond my reach.
In glass fogged with the dust of forgetting, haunting scenes of the past swirl in inky pools of darkness.
The sunlight never whispers ‘hello’, this corner unadorned with the warmth of time gone by.
Sometimes I find myself, under the light of the moon, sleep unable to subdue me, standing with my nose in that corner, my fingers aching to wrap themselves around a self long since abandoned.
Who was she?
Did she twirl her gilded hair in her hands?
Did she bite her lip in moments of confusion?
Raise her eyebrow in times of frustration?
Did she dream?
Did she chase the world in untethered abandon?
Did she run along roads less travelled only to lose her path in overgrowth and secrets?
Did she call on the demons of the night within her?
In cobwebbed cages left only to be seen from below, she exists.
I wonder if her and I are the same.
If our locks are not so different, the wounds of time cut with the same blade.
And here, in the twilight of our existence, the Earth begins to shake, the floor beneath me cracks.
Those bottles leap from their ledge, freedom but a fearless tumble into the unknown.
Glass shatters in a halo around me, the blackness of what was left to die given life in the glow of starlight and wishes.
And then, she is here.
And I know her, feel her in the thick currents of blood in my veins.
Unbound, she breathes, and I feel that tremble in the cavity of my chest.
We are here.